The Nail In The Coffin...The Final Return Of Cat Woman

Dear Cat Woman,

It has been almost 3 years since our last encounter. You remember...the Star Wars themed wedding. Where my gameplan backfired and the night ended with me walking in on you in your Chewbacca costume blowing Darth Vader. Remember that? I'm sure you did.

It was Memorial Day so I decided to hit up my local watering hole in hopes to find some desperate soul looking for a good time. An hour passes, I'm feeling good, the bar is packed, I look towards the door (as if God himself was telling me to look that way), then you walked in.

Thinner. More put together. Confident.

Was this a dream? Was I that drunk that I thought it was you and it ended up being just a random broad? No...it was you. In all your glory.

You: "It's been awhile."

Me: "Sure has."

You: "How's things?"

Me: "You're looking at it?"

You: "Drunk?"

Me: "Drunk and fucking dandy. How's Darth Vader?"

You: "Don't tell me YOU are jealous that you caught me blowing that guy?"

Me: "Me? That's a negative Ghost Rider. Anyway, have a seat. Great to see you."

You sat down and we start to pound shots and eat hot wings. It was like you never left and we parted ways. Still amazed at how much weight you lost, I had to ask...

Me: "So what magic pill did you take to look so good?"

You: "Gastric bypass. Went from 300 to 225. My tits look great, don't they?"

Me: "Gastric, huh? Nice. And yes, your tits actually look like tits and not peaks and valleys."

You: "You're such a dick."

Me: "That's why you love blowing me, right?"

You: "So I have a confession to make?"

Me: "Oh really? Do tell."

You: "So are you friends with a pretty gal named Sara on Facebook?"

Me: "Yeah, she told me she met me at a bar when I was wasted. Don't recall, but whatever. Why do you ask?"

You: "Well,  Sara doesn't exist because I'm Sara."

Me: "Bitch, are you saying you catfished me?"

You: "Kindaaaa?? It's for good reason though. I wanted to show you how much I've changed. That's why I'm here today."

Me: "WTF is going on with my life right now?"

For some reason, I couldn't get mad at your confession. I mean, fuck, you lost weight and you did some shit to try and impress me. Catfishing the fuck out of me was wrong because that bitch "Sara" was hot as fuck. Wait...I think that bitch was on Nickelodeon. This cunt. SMH.

Anyway, I wasn't mad. I was actually quite turned on. Yeah, I'm weird like that, my beefy goddamn gordita. I don't know what the fuck it is, but your tits and belly rolls turn me the fuck on. Shit, did I just say that out loud?

Two hours go by and you're drunk as fuck. Me on the other hand...stone cold sober.

You: "Since my surgery, I haven't been able to drink like I used to."

Me: "You used to be able to drink enough to kill a farm of sheep. That's not a bad thing."

You: "Wanna get out of here?"

Me: "Mos def."

We head back to your place because let's be honest...no fucking way am I gonna take you back to my place where you could potentially stalk me, come over and leave my sorry ass for dead. No thanks.

Within minutes we get back to where it all started.

The CAT-TUARY.

Nothing fucking changes does it? Sure you lost some goddamn weight but your place...Jesus fucking Christ. Why?

Your house from end to end was still like a scene from Hoarders. Sure enough, like before, I wasn't sure if I was smelling cat shit, your shit, shit from 1955 or an open trench of decomposed bodies lurking from your backyard. I actually threw up in my mouth a few times...AGAIN. Great to be back here in hell! Thanks, Jenny Craig.

Who was there to greet me again with hissing? That fat motherfucking, loving piece of shit, "French Fry".  Why the hell am I here again?

And the hair...bitch, have you vacuumed since I was here almost 3 years ago? Because I swear to fucking God, I walked in and was greeted with a fur fucking coat around my body. I almost thought you were housing a family of fucking eskimos. For fucks sake, Rosie O'Donnell. Clean your fucking pad...please!!!!

And although you may have lost weight and have a lower drinking tolerance, you and your goddamn  Kool-Aid and bologna sandwiches. Still couldn't spot one fruit or vegetable at your place. Why did you get Gastric again?

To no avail, there were those same three cats taking a shit. One on the couch. One in the kitchen. One by your foot. As I stood there looking confused, yet again, the only thing you could say was, "Ooopsy, poopsy poopsy."

It was groundhog day all over again. Then shit got real and real nasty...

You became aggressive as if I was that little boy who fell in that gorilla enclosure and you were the Gorilla, Harambe, dragging me around like a rag doll. For a chick who lost some poundage, you still were as strong as an overweight ox, Precious.

You decided to powerbomb me onto the bed and asked if I wanted a famous "cat woman" bj. I obliged, then you ripped off my clothes as if I had extra laundry chilling on the floor or something. BTW, you owe me $120 for fucking up my pants, shirt and my dress socks.  Bitch.

You're naked. I'm naked. Shit was getting hot and heavy...and when I say heavy, I mean that literally and figuratively. Man, you were the last big bitch I was with, so this took some getting used to. Anyway, you wanted to ride me and how could I say no. You straddle me and wet as a waterfall, my cock slid right it.

You were tight. Tighter than I remember. This losing weight shit ain't no joke I guess. Improvements in all places...even your vagina. If this is heaven, I don't want to leave.

Grinding me like you were grinding ground beef, you took your time. Moaning and meowing, you gave it to me. Then I heard it...

*GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE*

Was that your stomach that was making noise?

*BUBBLE, BUBBLE*

Please don't tell me your ass is hungry again?

*GRUMBLE, BUBBLE, THIS ISN'T GONNA BE GOOD*

It was at that third go-around that I knew something was about to go down. The look on your face said it all. It was of pure concern, terror but yet, calmness. Then it happened...

YOU SHIT ON ME.

All over my balls. Into the crevice of my buttcheeks. You shit all over me and couldn't stop.

Me: "What in the actual fuck is happening right now and why are you still sitting on top of me?!?!?!?!"

You: "OMG...THIS IS SOOOO FUCKING EMBARRASSING. I shouldn't have eaten all those wings! Why didn't I listen to my doctor?!"

So apparently, when motherfuckers get gastric bypass surgery, one of the side effects is called dumping syndrome. Basically your body moves food from your stomach to your intestines too quickly and it can cause loose stools and diarrhea. One thing you shouldn't eat is shit like hot wings. Where were we? Oh yeah, me being shit on...

Me: "Again, why are you still sitting on top of me?!"

You jump off and rush to the bathroom and get in the shower...sobbing. Screaming. Yelling. Yet, there I was, lying on the bed, covered in human fucking shit. It got to the point that I threw up everywhere. That didn't help because your 28 million fucking cats ended up coming into the room and eating it. God, this is like a bad fucking movie you can't escape from that's set on repeat til you go blind.

Why me? Why did I have to run into you? Why did I agree to get down to get down with you when I should have known better? And why did you not offer to let me in the shower first? Did you get shit on, woman? No. You sure fucking didn't. I did. WTF did you eat besides those wings, by the way? I know shit don't smell good, but for the love of God, woman...whatever your diet consist of, stop it immediately. I thought my skin was falling off.

I've never been more grossed out like I was that day. I mean, I got shit on. So much that you couldn't control it and you just did it til you finished.

You headed to another room after you got done cleaning up. That's when I finally hit the bathroom and held myself since I was more violated than a roomful of kids that Jared from Subway would love to play with. Yeah, it was that bad.

It took me a good 30 minutes to get cleaned off but when I was done, I put my clothes back on, left the remnants of dookie and puke for you to manage and said no goodbyes.

I needed closure and I think this was it.

Goodbye forever, Cat Woman Shitapotamus Rex.

Anonymous

Dear Dog Lover...

Dear Dog Lover,

I thought I was done with chicks and their pets. First Cat Woman, then a tranny then back to Cat Woman. What the hell is my problem?!

I met you at a bar, back in November, right before Thanksgiving. You sat there with your friends and I noticed you staring at me. You took my breath away. Tall, brunette, sexy. I thought this was a bad dream because how could someone as beautiful as you be checking out a guy like me? I ordered an Apple Martini for you and we started conversation.

We laughed and laughed for hours on end. It was a start to an amazing night, until we got back to your place...

Hoping I would score, I was gentleman enough to not make the first move once your door opened. Guess what? You made that move and more. By the time we were both naked, we were inches from your bedroom door when I heard something.

It was barks coming from what seemed like a pack of hungry wild dogs. You opened the door and there they stood...4 big fucking dogs staring at you then glaring over a second later to show their teeth at me. You were able to calm them down and let me know I had nothing to worry about. It was obvious you were an animal lover, specifically the canine family. I love dogs too but not in such a way that it made for a memorable yet mind blowing night of "WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

You didn't want to put your dogs in another room as you made them sit there to watch us get it on. Drunk, I didn't really care, however, the moaning from your dog, Astro, had me worried...for good reason.

The moment was intense. It was hot. It was really wet. I stuck my penis in you without any hesitation as I railed you like the little dog lover you are. You were moaning with such excitement that at times, I had to contain myself from blowing my load too early. That's one thing I had to concentrate on throughout our sexcapade. NOT BLOWING MY LOAD. But then within minutes of getting back on track, something suddenly happened...

As I was pounding you like one of those big-dick black guys punishing a poor Asian schoolgirl in a porno, I felt something come from behind me. To my dismay, it was your dog, Astro, mounted on top of me, with his red rocket at the tip of my butthole about to go H.A.A.M.. Startled, violated and somewhat scared, I jumped off you and threw your dog off me since it felt like he was 4 dick pumps away from blowing his baby gravy on me like I was some sort of black poodle.

At this point, you were not amused. AT ME. I mean, are you fucking serious right now, bitch?! I'm fucking you and your dog comes up on the bed to start fucking me...I throw him off me and you're mad at ME?! Bitch please. But then you apologized, told Astro to go back to his bed, so we can go back to where we left off. The only problem was that my cock was like an elephant's trunk. Solution? You decided to makeout with me again since you knew when I kissed you, I got back to hard-on status. We kissed and things were starting to go back to where we left off. Then shit got super weird and this is where I didn't know whether to stay or go...

In a transe as I was kissing you and feeling on your big ass titties, you began to moan. For minutes I felt in my heart of hearts that I was the fucking man. Then to my surprise you yell, "OH MY GOOOOOODDDDDDD! I'M FUCKING CUMMING!!!" Wait, what?!

Am I that good of a kisser and titty handler that I made you cum? Then I looked down and what the fuck do I see? But your motherfucking dog, Astro, licking your pussy. Two things: 1) How in the actual fuck do you not know a dog's down there licking your cooter and 2) How the fuck did this happen?

I threw you off with the quickness and the only thing you said was, "WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

I reply with, "Me? What's wrong with me?! Bitch, you just let your dog eat you out and you came while I was kissing you and playing with your tits! Did I just double team you with your dog, Astro?! WHYYYYYYYYY GOOOOOD! WHYYYYYY FUCKING ME?!"

You: "Why you what?"

Me: "You don't get it. First Cat Woman, now you?"

You: "Cat who?"

Me: "The fat bitch whose mouth was more special than the Pope."

You: "Are you embarrassed of me?"

Me: "Are you fucking serious right now? Your fuck.ing.dog.just.ate.you.out.and.you.came."

You: "Yeah, so?"

Me: "Can I ask you something?"

You: "Of course."

Me: "This isn't the first time it's happened has it?"

You: "First time what?"

Me: "Your dog licking your snatch?"

You: "You make it look like it's bad or something. As if I'm dirty. or gross. Get over it."

Me: "FUCK MY LIFE. FUCK.MY.MOTHERFUCKING.LIFE."

You: "Did you want me to lie?"

Me: "Yeah, bitch. That would have been great."

You: "So what now?"

Me: "Well, I'm leaving and you can stay here and continue your gang bang with the dog pound."

And that was that. The moment was so awkward that I didn't even put my clothes back on in the room. I just left and changed outside without any fucks to give. Butt ass naked. Changing like I was hypnotized. Did your dog just put his dick in my butt then eat you out?

Yes. Yes he fucking did.

You know life is bad when the girl you're banging has her dog cock block you and makes her cum first.

I don't know who has more issues, Dog Lover...you or me?

Anonymous

He Came, I Saw, They Conquered

Dear Blind Date,

I promised myself that I would never do blind dates or dating websites ever again. My last experience left me with a very large woman who owned like 23 cats and smelled like onions and paprika. But man, she gave great blow jobs. No question.

After my acts of desperation with the infamous "Cat Woman," I took a break. A VERY long break. One that involved tons of visits to the local strip club and massive amounts of booze. I almost felt depressed. But having asshole friends like J-Wunder and The RINGER, they got me out of my slump. They set me up with a few dates to boost up my confidence again. And can you believe they actually set me up with hot chicks?! They weren't crazy either. Who would have fucking thunk?! J and TR know normal woman. The fuck is that about?!

As awesome as that was, it was nothing more than a date and maybe a few games of "just the tip." I had to find ME again. Obviously last time, I didn't find me but found a woman who loved eating jars of mayo and catered sized Subway sandwiches. However, I was on a mission. A mission to find a good one. A fun one. The right one. So what did I do? I went on Tinder. Don't judge.

It was a Saturday night when we found each other as matches. When I met you at the bar, it was like everything I'd hope for. Beautiful girl. Gorgeous eyes. Amazing body. Upbeat. Great smile. I could go on forever.

We sat down and started to chat as if we had known each other for years. The chances of that are slim to none. This night was off to a great fucking start.

You weren't shy which is always a plus. We then begin to order drinks. I ordered a Basil Hayden on the rocks and you ordered a beer and shot of Fernet. This night was getting even better.

We talked about anything and everything. It was simply magic. And as the night went on, we talked more, we laughed more and better yet, we drank more. Shot after shot, drink after drink, I was so amazed how you were putting shit back like a champ. It's usually around drink 6 or so, that I can tell if a girl I'm with has that "crazy bitch vibe," but you had none of it.

THANK YOU, JESUS!

We kissed at one point and started to hold hands. The message was clear around midnight...you and I were gonna go back to your place and fuck like two virgins on prom night.

You asked if we could leave and I happily obliged. I got us an Uber and we headed back to your place. Full-on make out session in the car for 20 min. I couldn't help but thank the Fuck Gods for blessing me with this fine specimen of a woman that was you. One who didn't smell like cat shit and potpourri. One who actually was under 200 pounds. One who made my dick jiggle when you bit my bottom lip. We finally arrived to your place...then shit got REAL...

Barely able to control ourselves, our clothes come flying off at the front door. With no patience to even go to your bedroom, we decided to get it on in your living room. I reach for a condom but you tell me you want it raw. That's the shit I'm talking about. I didn't even ask if you're on the pill because, at the time, I was so wasted that I convinced myself that the alcohol I consumed would actually kill my sperm. The fuck was I thinking?

You start to take control and tell me to lay on the ground. The first thing that comes out of your mouth is, "I'm gonna take you on a ride to the Pound Town Express, baby." It was right then and there something wasn't right. "Pound Town Express"?! The only way you could have known that term is if you were a fan of the Ghetto Genius blog. That term is used RELIGIOUSLY. We even made shirts of that shit. I start to think if you fucked J-Wunder or The RINGER. Hell, you might have even fucked H-Bomb. Could you have? No way. But what if you did? I mean, I am bro's with my bro's, so no big deal, right?

I go with it and block out everything you're saying. I'm here to fuck and fuck is what I did. 10 minutes in, you start to make "choo choo" noises. You begin to say shit that is so left field that I think you're that chick from the exorcist. Fuck it though, I dig it. I'm drunk. You're drunk. Nothing weird is happening except whatever shit is coming out of your drunken mouth.

Then with my luck, something fucking weird happened...

The RINGER comes busting into the living room with a leather mask on, butt ass naked with a cock ring around a solid ass boner, holding a paddle.

Me: "What in the fuck, bro?!"

TR: "Surprise, fucker!"

Literally as this is going on, you're still riding me telling us you're down for a threesome.

Me: "Wait...what?! How do you know..."

TR: "Shhhhh...just let it happen, dog. Let's do this shit. She's down. Just look at her, homie."

Chick: "So who am I fucking and who am I sucking?"

TR: "You can fuck me then suck my boy, baby! Hey, how bout some double penetration?!"

I push you off me as fast as a teenager getting caught jacking off by his mom.

Me: "Dude, what the fuck are you doing here? And why the fuck are you wearing a leather mask you sick fuck?"

TR: "Bro, remember that girl I told you about that I've been banging for the last month?"

Me: "Yeah."

Chick: "Surprise!!!! We wanted to spice things up for you."

Me: "So you set me up you, assholes?!"

TR: "I mean, I wouldn't call it a set-up, man. Consider it a 'welcome to the kinky side'. So we gonna do this or what? Don't fight the feeling. You fucked Jabba the Hut for fucks sake."

The RINGER, still with his goddamn mask on and cock ring around his hard ass dong, I wanted to take that paddle out of his hand and smack his dick for pulling this shit. You have NO idea.

Me: "Ummmm...I am not gonna fuck this girl with you, man. I can't believe you would pull this shit. Remember that time you touched dicks in that other threesome you had?! I ain't about that life. Get that fucking mask off your goddamn face, asshole!!! You look like that dude from Pulp Fiction...you're freaking me the fuck out! Why the fuck am I friends with you dicks?!"

TR: "Hey man, we're just trying to get you back out there and get you laid and experience all the goodness in life. Don't hate me. Hate J-Wunder's ass because this was HIS idea. Just don't tell him I said that."

As this argument is going on, you just sat there playing with yourself as if this was turning you on. What the fuck just happened? I felt almost used. We were fucking and it was magical. Then, RINGER the goddamn gimp comes in trying to make this a fuckfest.

How on earth did this go from amazing to WTF in a matter of minutes? As I stood there with the worst case of blue balls ever, I went to your kitchen to grab a drink and collect myself from beating The RINGER's ass. If it couldn't get any worse, you two act as if nothing was wrong and start fucking each other while saying some pretty messed up stuff. I didn't even know you could put an Astro Pop inside a vagina without it breaking off.

Is my luck that bad? As mad as I want to be at my buddy for pulling this shit, I'm not. I mean, he wore a goddamn leather mask and a cock ring for the occasion.

I gathered my clothes, stole some cash out of your purse, threw a few eggs at The RINGER's car, then headed back to my place.

Shocked, confused and drunk...this all felt like a bad dream. I banged a girl that didn't finish what she started. Go fucking figure.

My night ended drinking more vodka, cussing out J-Wunder via text and jerking off to an old school porn my dad gave me 4 years ago. My internet wasn't working so I had to make due. Don't judge me, woman.

Thanks for what could have been. Fuck my life.

Anonymous

The Dare, The Star Wars Wedding And The Return Of Cat Woman

Dear Cat Woman,

There are some things I take pride in. The moments I have had with you have not been one of them.

Roughly two weeks ago, I attended a wedding. A Star Wars themed wedding to be exact. Knowing this wasn't going to be your typical suit and tie with a fancy dress wedding, I knew my chances of getting a date were slim. Friend after female friend, I asked each one of them weeks prior to the event. To no avail, they laughed at me and weren't interested. One friend actually asked me, "Are they going to be serving special treats to all the well behaved kids, too?" Fucking cunt.

Dateless and desperate, my stupid ass decides to tell our fearless leader, Mr. Wunder, about the whole ordeal.

JW: "Are you fucking serious right now, bro? You are actually planning to go to a STAR WARS themed wedding? If you say yes, I will punch you in the goddamn throat then pee on you, dawg. Why are you always getting into some weird shit, man? I've known you for years and I'm starting to think you're autistic or just fucking retarded. What gives?"

I go on to explain to J the reason I'm going, is to try and rekindle things with my ex from high school since I know she'll be there. So bringing a date is a must, especially if I want to grab her attention. For what it's worth, this Han Solo needs to find his Princess wanna Lei-a if you know what I mean. Otherwise, I'm gonna be rolling Hand Solo and that shit ain't the business.

JW: "Rekindle? This motherfucker is pulling some Saved By The Bell shit. You truly are one predicament away from a Jerry Lewis Telethon...just so you know. Ok, here's the deal...I don't know any broad that can do me a solid by going with you because they don't do stupid shit like that, so here's what I'm going to offer you..."

It was right then I knew this sack of shit had something messed up in his head and as I would have guessed it, it was fucked up.

JW: "A DARE, amigo. I dare you to ask your girl, Cat Woman."

As soon as those words spilled out of Wunderfuck's mouth, I saw my life flash before my eyes. The blow jobs, the cats, the mayo, the foot job, Subway sandwiches, the raunchy stench of cat shit and potpourri...it was like the bittersweet nightmare I no longer wanted to remember but always kept close to my heart.

JW: "If you do, I will pay for both your costumes AND your hotel room. The reality is bro, this bitch is the only bitch who will say yes and you and I both know it. So do we have a deal?"

It was then when I looked J in his eyes and uttered the words, "YES YOU SONOFABITCH, I'LL DO IT." The plus side was that I got to pick the costumes for you and I and since this was a themed wedding, the wedding rule was no costumes could come off and everyone had to be in character. ALL NIGHT LONG.

Regretfully, I still had your number, texted you and asked. Like the Ghetto Genius he is and predicted, you responded with a, "OMG...we haven't spoken or seen one another since Valentine's Day...of course I'll go. I LOVE STAR WARS."

We texted details a few days before I get our costumes. Knowing that I was going to be a pimp ass Han Solo, I had to make sure I got you the right outfit. One that disguised you so I wouldn't look like the guy who brought Jabba The Hut but was really dressed as Princess Leia. Fuck all that. So I did what any man in my position would do. I rented you the biggest Chewbacca costume one could imagine. That's right, I didn't ask what you wanted to be, I DECIDED for you. And surprisingly enough, you were actually stoked and yet turned on a bit. Thank God this wedding was open bar.

The day of the wedding was something like no other. Guests decked out in all types of Star Wars shit. From Luke to Darth to a clan of Storm Troopers, this wedding was actually legit. You and I cruised up and I couldn't tell you how many looks and "WOW, that's a great looking Chewbacca" compliments you received. Simply because you acted like mothefucking Chewbacca and were into it way more than the other two Chewbacca's that were there.

The best thing about this whole wedding was that no one had to see what you actually looked like. All that mattered was that they knew you were a woman and you were my date. I pounded so much vodka to numb any possible embarrassment I might have if you were to show your face. Yes, I am that asshole, but again, the goal was to bring you in hopes I ran into my high school ex. And run into her I did.

As I hoped for, she was dressed as Princess Leia and I have to say, she was looking finer than an ultra thin condom. We locked eyes and it was in that instance that we went off to the side and started to chat and catch up on life. My plan was working to a tee but I needed something to guarantee that she was mine for the night. Something to impress her SO much that I had it locked up. So I pulled a J-Wunder and The RINGER go-to move...

Ex: "So who's your date?"

Me: "She's not really a date."

Ex: "A friend then?"

Me: "Actually, she's one of those 'Make a wish' foundation people that I wanted to help out since her dream was to be part of Star Wars."

Ex: "Oh my God! That's so nice of you. I can't believe you would do such an awesome thing like that for someone and an organization. I always knew you had such a good heart."

It was right then she grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes and went in for the kiss I have been waiting on for years. Then shit got fucked up...

A crowd on the dance floor had formed a circle and was chanting, "Chew-ee, Chew-ee, Chew-ee!!!" The ex and I run over to see what the hell was going on and there you were, in your Chewbacca outfit twerking like a goddamn epileptic going completely out of control. Shouting like the 7 foot monster, waiving your arms in the air, moving that 300 pound ass so fast, everyone was getting dizzy but loving every fucking minute of it. Never thought I would see someone so big, move so fast and have a crowd of over 150 people love every minute of it. You were so good, they gave you a light saber for "best dance of the night".

Ex: "Wow, she is really having a good time, huh?"

I had to make my move so I took my ex over to one of the private bathrooms and without hesitation, we start to make out and feel each other up like two high school kids behind the bleachers after school. My cock was so hard that I think it broke through my boxers then the zipper but I didn't give a shit. I was gonna get my fuck on and I was willing to go the extra mile for it. That's until you broke the door down...

You: "Grrrrrr....Gllllllaaaaaaaaccccckkkk....Wooooo....RRRRR..."

Me: "Get the fuck out...what the fuck are you saying right now?!"

You kept character and never broke. ONCE. It was like Big Foot barged in and was going for the kill. There I was with my dick out, boner and all, with my ex and her left tit just chillin' outside her bra and a confused look on her face.

Ex: "OMG. OMG. What is happening right now? Please tell me what the hell is going on?"

You kept talking like Chewbacca and pounding your chest like King Kong. It was then and only then when I noticed you had enough and started giving blow job motions with the light saber you had just won, showing the both of us that you were either hungry or wanted to suck my cock and fuck my ex with the light saber. Neither of us knew what the fuck you were actually trying to signal. At this point of the night, I was drunk and confused...still with a massive hard on that wouldn't go down because quite honestly, I was turned on and I was digging this shit.

Me: "Get out Chewy...you need to take your meds!!! Back demon, BACK!!!"

You finally left, but not before swinging your light saber at my meat saber and hitting the head of my dong. I turned over in pain as I knew you were pissed. My ex looked at me in the face and knew that something wasn't right.

Ex: "You're up to something and you need to tell me. That girl is "not special" is she? You have something going on with her, don't you? "

Still in pain from your light saber hitting my dick, I didn't say a word to my ex. All I could do was look at her in disappointment and tell her I'm sorry and that it's not what she thinks. She put her left tit back in her bra, gave me one last kiss on the cheek and left. I sat there for 5 more minutes...not because I was sad, but because I was in pain. That light saber had to of weighed 10 fucking pounds because it felt like Renaldo kicked me in the goddamn penis.

I collected myself and went outside to search for you. For ten minutes I couldn't find you until I got to one of the private rooms where I saw something that will scar me for life.

You were blowing Darth Vader. It was the most fucked up thing I could have imagined. There he was breathing like Darth while you somehow were blowing him with your Chewbacca head on. As he was petting the back of your head, he looked at me and gave me the thumbs up. I had no words. I just left.

The one night I thought I had the greatest game plan, backfired. BIG TIME.

Karma is a bitch and it punched me right in the dick.

This might just be the end,

Anonymous

The Craigslist Date

The last blind date I went on went from feeling like I was living a nightmare to becoming obsessed with a woman who owned about 20 cats, smelled like mayo and a locker room full of sweaty vaginas, was three times my size, but in the end, gave me a blowjob that I can honestly say, has and IS the best bj I have ever received by any woman or dog who was looking for a little bit of peanut butter. Wait, what?Cat woman definitely gave me a run for my money and for that, I thank her and the manufacturers of Grey Goose vodka. You folks over there at GG really helped a guy out through some tough times.

After the Valentine's Day debacle with my ex and cat woman, I decided I needed to be that guy that J-Wunder and our buddy, The RINGER, once knew. The guy who was slicker than baby oil. Calmer than a dead prostitute. Confident like Kobayashi at the annual Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest. Over a year ago, I thought I was at my prime but that all went to shit when I registered on Match.com, met some fat bitch who looked like an American Yao Ming then fell in love with her mouth. Don't get it twisted, I'm a good looking guy (at least I think so) and have dated many hot broads who gave up the cookie. I guess sometimes a great bj will beat out any bomb ass bitch with looks, 11 out of 10 times. FYI: That's a guy fact that will never be admitted to any woman on this planet. You're welcome.

I had to find ME again. Find the guy who I once was. So what did I do? I posted an ad on Craigslist to find me a hot chick to date or at least get a hi-five from. After searching for a soulmate on Match.com and ending up with one of the extras from Jurassic Park, how could going on Craigslist get any worse, right? Within a week, I got a few responses. And while a majority of these women sounded like they had more baggage than a Southwest flight to New York City, there was one that caught my eye. She was 5'6", brunette, hot as fire and seemed like she pretty much had her shit together. However, being that I was fooled once by Sloth from the Goonies, I asked her to send me 10 photos of herself which made me look like a fucking creep dog. But like a gentleman and non-rapist, I told her my situation and she was cool with my request. We talked a few times, texted for the next week and finally planned a date. Then shit went from great to WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST GET MYSELF INTO????

We meet at a cool little spot that wasn't too over the top or romantic - a pub. See, the way I operate is simple. Until you show me you aren't fucking crazy and deranged, then we can wine and dine the right way. I'm not trying to flip the bill on an expensive ass meal if you're planning to do some crazy shit like cut me with broken glass then tell me you're a vampire. Fuck all that. Anyway, where was I? Yes, the date. At the pub...

The night started off pretty smooth. We drank, we laughed, we smiled. We even held hands time and again. I know what you're all thinking..."Damn man, you sound gay as fuck right now! Where's the good shit to your story?" Glad you clowns asked. Bare with me for just a minute.

As the night progressed I started to realize that I was getting my groove back. My nut sack was started to peak it's pretty little head out of my stomach and I was blossoming back to who I was. Then dinner arrived...

You know, I have experienced some pretty interesting and fucked up dates in my life. Some worse than others. But this date was not only interesting, but a first for me. As the waiter set our entrees down in front of us and gave us the good 'ol "bon a petit,"my date took one look at me, smiled, mumbled the words, "Excuse me for a second," then pulled out her four front teeth and set those sons of bitches on the goddamn table. Just chillin'. Staring at me. No fucks were given. Then she started to eat like a homeless person who just got keys to a Subway.

I sat there, motionless. Stoned faced. Wondering what just happened and what went wrong from the time we arrived to the time she took her teeth out and just plopped them on the table as if it were a plate of bread ready to be eaten.

Me: "Um...I don't want to be rude but can I ask why you just decided to take out your teeth and set them on the table while we're eating? Actually, why did you even bother to take them the fuck out?"

Date: "Sorry, I'm just so used to doing that when I'm at home. I lost them while playing softball and don't want to get food stuck in them and be embarrassed if you noticed something while or after we eat."

Me: "Did you not notice me noticing you just took your goddamn teeth out of your mouth and set them on the table? What's next? Are you gonna tell me you're a man?"

Date: "Well, since we're on the topic..."

Me: "Aaaahhh fuck me."

Date: "My procedure will be done in a few weeks."

Me: "Why God? Why, motherfucker? Why?"

Date: "Excuse me?"

Me: "No, excuse me for realizing I'm on a date with a fucking dude who wants to be a chick who has great tits. Gotta be shitting me?! Fuck. This ain't right. Fuck you, Craigslist. You look like a fucking chick though. I mean, you even sound like one. This isn't even To Wong Foo. You don't even have an Adam's apple."

It was right then and there that our fearless leader, J-Wunder, sent me a text.

JW: "Hey fucker, how's your date going? $5 says it's fucked up and that you are going to regret ever putting some shit out there on Craigslist. I told you, I'm more than happy if you have my sloppy seconds bro. LOL. Seriously, let me know how it's going fuckface. Wear a jimmy cap. There's AIDS and shit out there."

Shaking my head at the situation and J's text, I literally got up, went to the bathroom, puked, walked back out, sat down, pounded my beer, looked this she-man right in the eyes and said, "Alright, look. Knowing what I know now and the fact you were being honest about having a penis that is probably bigger than mine, let's just finish up dinner then part ways. Are you sure you aren't fucking with me right now? You can't be a dude. Show me your penis so I know you aren't lying."

For the love of all things holy...why do I put myself in these situations?

People, I'm not going into details. All I'm going to tell you is that the request I asked for, I got. And truth be told, my date did not only have a pair of balls, but a bigger dick than mine.

Laugh it up because I'm at a loss for fucking words.

The Cat Is Out Of The Bag

Dear Cat Woman,

It had been almost 2 months since our last encounter. The night I never expected turned into a footjob and me walking away with my pants down my ankles. J-Wunder and The CREW to this very day, will not let me live that night down. But I'm not going to lie, I was digging it. So much that I will confess, I was tugging my goods here and there while listening to Lionel Richie on those nights I was lonely.

I parted ways with you for a reason. You took things to a whole new level. Not a kinky one. Just one that gives me nightmares but at the same time, turns me on. I needed to seek help. So I went to my mom's therapist. What a goddamn waste. What I thought was patient to doctor confidentiality turned into my mom finding out and telling the whole fucking neighborhood what I had done with you. Do you know what it feels like having a bunch of members from the Red Hat Society questioning you about blow jobs from a woman who smells like cat shit, potpourri and mayo? I'll tell you...it's ridiculous, fucking awful and a reason for a woman who is 70 years old to hit on you while informing you that they can still get wet. That's right, a geriatric made a pass at me and wants to bone down. For that, I have no reason to live. Please, kill me now.

Depressed and confused, I was almost at the point that I was going to contact you again. But I didn't. You know what I did? I contacted my ex. My fine, fine, very fine ex-girlfriend who was planning to be in town Valentine’s Day when we spoke. We made plans for a date and I was on my way to heal all my wounds in one magical night.

Valentine’s Day arrives and the ex and I headed to a cool little restaurant that never gets too crowded. We ordered some wine, had a few good laughs, flirted a little and was well on our way to riding the PTE back at my pad. Then it happened...

You showed up. With one of your girlfriends. One who was not only bigger than you, but much uglier. If looks could kill, every mother fucker in that goddamn restaurant would have been dead. Slaughtered to death. That's straight up, truth.

I had to scratch my head for a moment and contemplate if you were following me because 1) This was some tiny, romantic bistro on the outskirts of town, perfect for setting the stage for pounding ass later and 2) HOW THE FUCK DID YOU FIND ME???

I was scared shitless, and my brain was still reeling at the sight of you, so I didn't make eye contact. But, you did what I thought you wouldn't do. You approached my table and started talking all loud like we were best buds. It went downhill from there...

Ex: "Who's that?"

Me: "Just some Special Ed student I tutored for a few months."

Ex: "Special Ed?"

Me: "Yes, woman. As in 'has fucking needs and shit.'"

Ex: "She didn't seem like a Special Ed student to me."

Me: "You're fucking crazy."

Ex: "Why so defensive? Wait...noooooo...did you? Please for the love of God, tell me you didn't?"

Me: "Didn't what? Tutor her?"

Ex: "Oh my God. You fucked her. You had sex with that girl, didn't you?"

It was at that point that I realized the way I was acting and turning beet red in the face that I was caught because of my own wrong doing. To this day, I have never had a drink thrown in my face, and I swear if my ex wasn’t such a booze-hag she would have dumped that shit on my head and cackled out of the restaurant. Instead, she chugged that shit like the boss bitch she is and told me to go fuck myself and stormed off.

She came back a second later and I thought she was going to forgive me and we were going to have a glorious, hate-filled fuckfest, but instead she said, "Better yet, go fuck that fat she-bitch you are so obviously into." And then she left, for good this time.

As this was a tiny little restaurant, everyone was able to see what had just gone down. Including you. Especially you. You looked at me with such lust in your eyes, I thought you were going to walk over barefoot and start foot-jobbing me right at the goddamn table. I swear to god you mouthed the words "meow" to me, before you walked over to me and whispered in my ear with breath that smelled like Fancy Feast and Dr. Pepper, "Ready to make my kitty purrrrrrrrrrr?"

You grabbed my hand and led me out of the restaurant and before we left you looked at your friend and said, "Handle my business, so I can go handle THIS business." I cannot lie, you acting like a kitty thug got me turned on. And you were wearing open-toe shoes, so I could see your feet in all their hideous, pterodactyl clawed, glory. To my own disgust, when I looked at your feet, I got a baby chub.

We got into your car and were off to your house. You told me that you would bring me back to my car when you were done with me. I shivered in terror at what you had just said, just as I heard the click of the automatic door locks. You obviously saw the terror and dread in my face because you said, "Don’t bother, the locks and windows have child safety locks and I have them turned on." Then you licked your lips and I watched in horror as your tongue ran across your chapped lips and faint moustache. Two words: Nair. Please.

We got to your house and you let me get in the door before circling back behind me and locking what must have been 9 different locks. Trapped and scared, I just tried to go to a place where I would hopefully not remember what was about to happen. I was not even tipsy, so I knew I was going to have to rely on my own sheer force of will to block out everything that was going on around me.

The sight of your cats, everywhere, licking themselves like you were about to lick me. The smell of musty cat litter, sadness and broken promises that permeated the house, the sight of you, so fat and disgusting, with so many rolls you're like the illegitimate love child of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man and the Pillsbury Doughboy. I was trying not to soak all this in, but it was getting to me. Then it happened.

You walked out of your bedroom (when had you gone in there, I didn’t even hear the sound of your cankles crushing the newspaper strewn all over the floor) in a sheer babydoll nightie and a thong. That poor, poor thong. I could hear the elastic screaming, shrieking and trying not to snap like a #2 pencil on SAT test day. You took me by the hand and led me through the cats, newspaper, and what I thought was a cat carcass to your bedroom. It had to have been the worst 20-30 feet I've ever walked in my life. You sat me down on the bed and then jumped on top of me, almost crushing the boner that I shockingly still had.

You ripped my clothes off with such abandon, with the strength and agility of a much tinier person. I didn’t think those sausage fingers would be able to navigate the buttons of my shirt or the zipper on my pants so quickly, but within seconds I was in nothing but my socks and you were on me, grinding and riding me like a desperate cat in heat. I don’t know how, but at some point in time you even managed to slip a rubber on me because as you put it, "I am not ready for my own litter of kittens." It was like you were teaching the art of sex as I was Daniel-San and you were Mr. Meow-gi.

From there, I think I did black out, but not from pain, but ecstacy. If I thought you had the best mouth ever, well I was wrong. It was like my schlong was wrapped in the softest of blankets and being milked by the gentlest of milk-maids. I closed my eyes and imagined I was with my smoking hot ex, and not your Chewbacca ass, but then you started moaning and mewling in what could only be described as a feral kitten being drowned in a vat of hot oil. It was the most awful sound ever. I knew I had to get off, to get you off me. So that’s just what I did.

The more I tried to stay in the zone, the sound of drowning tigers and slaughter goats kept me off focus. Knowing that I had to bust one and bust one fast, I just couldn't. So I did what any other man would do in this situation...I channeled my inner J-Wunder and The RINGER. I faked my o-face, used all my fight or flight energy to throw you off my dong, then with the quickness, ripped off the condom and tried to spit in it because knowing how crazy you are, you would probably want to check how much of a load I blew. But to fool someone crazy like you is out of the question. So as all that went down within a few short seconds, the only thing I could do was...RUN. And run I did. Naked and exhausted from what felt like a 12 round sumo wrestling match, I gathered my shit and peaced the fuck out. No solid goodbye, no hug, no awkward conversation to end the night. Just me, clothes and shoes in hand, running out the door so I could finally close a chapter to a story that has not only left me questioning who I am as a man, but as a man who loves women.

I don't know why and I don't know how...but what I do know is that after having sex with you, I could possibly become a priest...or just get really wasted and jump off a very high building.

What you have accomplished is something that will go down in the books. David vs. Goliath. The tortoise vs. the hare. The Road Runner vs. Wile E. Coyote. You were the underdog that shocked the world. Not once, not twice...but five times. For that, I applaud you as well as need psychiatric help.

Please go audition for the Biggest Loser because after our sexual encounter, I know for a fact, you don't weigh 230 pounds. Maybe your heart weighs that much, not you.

The cat is out of the bag,

Anonymous

Dear Santa...

As I sit in the airport terminal at LAX, watching the hustle and bustle of all the passengers scrambling to make it home to their families (about two weeks before Christmas, mind you), I try to figure out how to kill the hours before my flight. Drink? The answer is usually "hell yes," but I had a rough day yesterday where 4 different liquids were involved (Grey Goose, Jack, Don Julio & good 'ol Mr. Macallan)... Oh and how could I forget the beer? And did I mention this was before 7pm? So if I can't sit within 50 ft of the smell of booze, what better way to kill time than write a letter to Santa? I mean, someone needs to remind him of what a good little boy I've been this year. Those that know me, stop laughing. Those that don't know the guy behind who they call Anonymous, read on, you'll learn a thing or two...


Dear Santa,

I sit here reflecting on the past year since you've visited, and I start to wonder if I'll actually get a gift this year, or if a lump of coal will be the rude awakening that I deserve.

Side note: I sort of feel like I'm about to give confession, but given the fact that I haven't set foot in a church in 5 years (maybe 6), I'll instead spill my guts to you, Santa, and let you decide what to do with me this Christmas.

It's been a really good year, an eventful year, and quite honestly a blurry year.

If you ask me, "Have you been on your best behavior, Anonymous?" My answer: Probably not. But that doesn't mean I haven't done my fair-share of good deeds. I'll share a few with you, Santa:

I give money to homeless people. Sure, 9 in 10 are probably buying sex or drugs, but I think that at least I'm helping that 1 in 10 get off the streets.

I volunteered a morning of my time a few months ago to help the needy. Yes, it was also mostly get out of work. But a win-win situation for all. Don't hate...congratulate.

Also, I'm a really, really good friend. Like I will do just about anything to help a friend out. And all my friends know this. For instance, I recently drove 12 hours to drunkenly take care of a friend who had just had surgery. Another friend of mine is in a relationship that requires them to go home hammered pretty much daily... And guess what I do? I drink with them. Like shots, all the fucking time! I'd go so far to say that if a friend needed me to kill someone, I'd do it. Okay, maybe this isn't helping my case but I'd still do it. Fuck you. Kidding.

If this isn't enough, Santa, I'll compare myself to a few others sitting near me in the airport. I know, my mom taught me not to compare myself to other people, and what better way to plead my case?

FIRST- let's talk about the little whore who is sitting across from me in the lounge area. She can't be a day over 18 and is wearing enough makeup to make every member on the entire Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders look pretty. I shit you not, she's wearing so few clothes that she looks just like she came from her night job, of tricking. I can also hear the music coming from her headphones: Rihanna - S&M. Really? Yeah, I know that song. Santa, if you don't, here is a little excerpt:

"I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me..."

I mean, are you fucking kidding me, bro? And you wonder why people try to pay her for sex?? Let me guess, she used to be pretty square in high school, didn't drink or fuck, and after her first semester at Junior College, she realized how awesome the combination of sangria & cock tastes.


NEXT- Marilyn Manson's cousin, the dude wearing a black trench coat, a dog collar and black nail polish. Yeah, him. I'm trying not to make eye contact with him because I might get so scared that I'd piss myself. I don't know who told him that the goth look was cool, but it's been out since my senior year when that kid killed everyone at Columbine. I wonder how long it took him to get through security. But maybe that's why he looks so angry, I'll give him this much, I'd look pissed too if I had just received a cavity search from the huge ginger TSA agent at security. I'm very curious who is picking up this guy at the airport. If that was my son, I'd just keep driving past him at baggage claim. No joke.


LASTLY- to the man being paged over and over again because he lost his daughter. I'm sure it is a scary feeling, but if he had been watching little Angela instead of getting so SHIT-FACED at the airport bar, I'm sure his daughter wouldn't be crying for Daddy. The worst part - I'm sure she has to hangout with the huge Ginger TSA agent at security... I'm sure his hand smells like shit, even if he has taken off the latex gloves.

So there you have it Santa, I may not always make the best decisions, often clouded by booze and cat hair, but in comparison to many others out there, I really am a damn saint. And yes, I deserve presents more than these perfect strangers at LAX.

So in conclusion, I should be getting a gift this year.

Merry Christmas,
Anonymous

The Call, The Kitty, The Foot Job and The Subway Sandwich

Dear Cat Woman,

It was Saturday night when J-Wun and The CREW hung out and went to the Condor Club. Hoping I was going to get my fix of tits and ass, turned out to be a complete failure. Thanks J. What the fuck were you thinking bro? As I sat there next to Flo-Rich watching the main stage, I became bored. So much in fact, that the chubby girl who looked four months pregnant gave me the sign that this was by far the worst strip club I have ever been to. It was so damn bad that after her two song set, I crumbled up a dollar, threw that shit on the stage and told her to go buy a onesie with it. The sad part, that was the only money she got. A pity dollar. A "please get the fuck off the stage" dollar. You're welcome.

I was drunk. I was horny. I wanted something. While Flo-Rich was playing an intense game of Angry Birds, I knew it was time to leave and escape. So I hit you up with a text.

"I'm in the city. Wanna meet up so we can do this? Hit me up."

3 minutes later...

"I'm on my way. I'll let you know where I'm at. I know a dark place where we can get kinky. Purrrrr..."

I told J I was going to the bathroom as I headed for the exit. The only thing he could say was, "Bro, if the bathroom entails you fucking around with hoarder bitch, then have fun with that. Let me know if you need assistance getting your head detached from her Fatimus Prime pussy. I know a great locksmith in town." I bounced to meet you.

I get in your ride and we end up in a dark alley...somewhere in China Town, I think. As I sat there drunk with a huge boner, you didn't hesitate to take off my pants and give me the infamous Cat Woman bj. It was like I was sticking my dick inside a bowl of whipped cream filled with warm custard and lemon wedges. Wait, what?

In the back seat of your 92' Corolla, I noticed you brought your cat "French Fry". While I sat there getting dome from you, there was French Fry hissing at me like you were supposed to suck HIS dick. I didn't even know French Fry was a guy. All I know is that this little fucker acted like you owed it something. It was at that moment of the hissy fit that it happened...

"I want to surprise you with something."

As you took off your shirt and big ass elephant sized panties, I became disgusted. You're special to me when you suck me off but when you get naked, I become speechless and my body seems to react as if I'm about to have the stomach flu. I'm almost positive I found an apple turnover stuck in one of your titty rolls with mayo on it. The smell of wet cat and potpourri became fierce. I was becoming sober again. You started to look like Jabba The Hut but with a vagina so hairy that I thought it was a white kid with an afro down there.

"Lay back baby, I'm gonna show you what I've been working on."

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and imagined a world where it was just my cock and your mouth. I became hard again and knew that whatever was going to happen at that moment I just had to run with it and make sure it never happens again. That's when you farted then blamed it on the cat. Just so you know, no animal farts like a dinosaur. So loud. So fierce. So fucking awful. I didn't let that break my concentration though. Sitting there waiting for something to happen, I felt something.

It was wet, warm and beastly like. Almost like two horse hooves were choking my dick. It felt good but weird. As I slowly opened my eyes, there you were...giving me a foot job while eating a sandwich. A sandwich, really? Subway. Footlong. Extra tomato. You can't make this shit up. There I was with my eyes closed getting a foot job by a very large man looking woman who was eating a goddamn Subway sandwich playing with her nipples that resembled that of two broken trash can lids with bullet holes in them. Then came the chips. While I was doing my best enjoying what was the most oddest fucking experience in my life, you opened up a bag of chips and were crunching away like you were a natural at multi-tasking eating and pleasuring men.

"You can eat the sandwich, but not the chips. Please. This is fucking weird."

You put the chips down, finished your sandwich (in like 5 minutes) then focused on the job at hand...or should I say foot. I've never seen feet move so fast. It was like Usain Bolt was jerking me off. For a minute I thought my dick was gonna catch fire and we were all gonna be screwed. As soon as my dick started to feel like two cub scouts rubbing sticks together to earn their fire making badge, it happened. I came with such ferocity I startled French Fry from it's nap and it looked at me with a mix of surprise and disgust. "The feeling is mutal, French Fry," I thought. I'm not gonna lie, I'm a sick bastard and I was digging it. From the moment you lubed your feet up with KY and started eating that sandwich while playing Command and Conquer on your titties, I realized I was into your fucked up approach to being kinky. And the more I was digging it, the closer I was about to blow my load. That's when it went downhill...

Your cat jumped on your stomach as I was pointing to cream on your tits. There was nothing I could do, nowhere else I could have gone. So I did what any other drunken man would have done...I shot my wad with such furious anger and great vengeance all over your cat, feet and everywhere in the car. That little fucker was not amused and in the end looked like a snow leopard. You screamed. I laughed. The cat hissed then scratched my shaft. The inside of your car looked like Spider Man's webslingers had exploded, there was so much jizz everywhere. Then, you did the most unthinkable thing you could have ever done. You tried to stick you foot that was soaked with my cum in my mouth. You sick, nasty, fat, Yeti of a she-beast. If I won't kiss you what makes you think I am going to lick your cankle that is caked in my own cum?

I'll be honest, this wasn't going to end. But after my dick exploded in your ride and you pulled that "hey, lick your semen off my foot," I knew that was the straw that broke the moose knuckles back.

That was finally it. I knew there would be a point when you would do something so foul and horrendous that not even I could let it slide. I punched you in the foot and toppled out of the car. I was in an alley, pants around my ankles with zero fucks to give so I penguin waddled the fuck out of there and tried to find out where the rest of the crew was.

I never had a foot job. You were my first and probably last. I can't believe I am writing this. I'm a good looking guy who fell for a woman who looked more like a man than a woman. This had to end and I'm glad it did.

Take care and thanks for the fucked up ride. Time to check myself into some therapy.

Anonymous

It's a Relationship With 9 Lives

Dear Cat Woman,

I thought I was done with you after your heinous sexting the night I was at the strip club with The RINGER. I have never been more disgusted by one individual in my life. That's a complete lie. I was pretty disgusted when me and the fellas went to that Donkey Show in Tijuana in 2002. Fuck, that was a goddamn night to remember. J-Wunder, I think you need to write about that...just putting it out there buddy.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I will admit that I will be needy. And when I say needy, I mean, horny. Although I want to scrub my eyes out with bleach everyday because of the horrid pictures of your goat's eye that I can't get out of my head, I will say that I miss you. Well, I miss your mouth. I miss your scent of cat nip and potpourri. The way you eat mayo out of a jar...or should I say tub.

How could one attractive man like myself be so attracted to a woman who resembles John Candy? As J-Wunder put it in a text, "Bro, you aren't attracted to her. You're attracted to her fucking mouth. You do realize you have a blow job addiction, right? I mean, if you could suck your own dick, you would. True story because back in college, you tried that yoga class out to see if you could get flexible enough to suck your own cock. BTW - you're fucking disgusting."

I'm an addict. A blow job addict. As ugly as you are Fluffasaurus Rex, your mouth is beautiful. Warm, moist, riveting. If they could have mouth models, yours would be #1. If they only shot porn with mouth shots around dicks and vaginas, you would be the Jenna Jameson of that shit.

I've dated and nailed a few chicks since we stopped talking a few weeks back. The sex was great but the blow jobs...they just didn't compare to yours. Nothing beats your style. Nothing beats the ambiance with the cats staring, cat shit just chillin' on the floor next to your Crocs, the smell of old cheese and wet farts. Let's not forget the shit ton of cat hair that lingered in the air and throughout the walls of your shitty ass apartment. Which reminds me...have you cleaned your place up yet because when I took a piss, I swear you had seaweed coming out of your toilet. What the hell am I doing with you????

I miss your mouth. I miss how it tickled my balls. I miss wearing those cat boxers that turned you on. I miss purring like a kitty when I blew my load and bruised your tonsils. There's no denying that you are one bad accident away from looking like Sloth from the Goonies but I don't care. As long as your mouth is intact, I'm ok with that. I know you are too.

This Saturday I will be in the presence of H-Bomb, Flo-Rich, RoMo, The BOSS, K-Piddy, OG and our leader, J-Wunder. Although I don't want you hanging out with any of us, I do plan to meet up with you for a possible opportunity at a blow job. Where and when this happens, we'll see. I just want to make sure that you're up for it but are ok to not show your face to anyone. Because if you do, I'll more than likely lie to all those around me and just say you're some prostitute who is looking for a good time. J-Wunder knows I don't pay for prostitutes. Ok, I do. Just Asian ones.

If you accept this offer, then I will see you Saturday night. I will be drunk. I will be wearing my cat boxers. And I will be expecting to purr like an animal that has been caged for decades. If you have no idea what that means...don't worry because I don't either. Just be ready to feel the wrath of my wang going in and out your mouth. And if you want, bring your cats. I don't mind. It kinda turns me on when someone(s) is watching.

The countdown to ThunderDOME is on...

Anonymous

THANK YOU GG FANS!

You know why I love the Ghetto Genius fans? It's because you guys "get it." Well, 97% of you do. I'm not going to speak for Mr. Wunder and the rest of the CREW (actually, I am), but the reason why I keep writing for this blog and for the Ghetto Genius is because 1) Fans appreciate it, 2) It's hilarious, 3) It's honest and real.

There is no special equation to anything on this blog. There are no hidden "messages or secrets." There's no deep meaning to anything. If we say the sky is blue, it's not because there was something scientific or philosophical about it. The sky is blue, mother fucker. That's all you need to know. Stop looking into shit and coming up with your own reasoning.

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

I write for this blog because this is the place to let the world know, I'm human. I don't give a shit that I show humility. Hell, every contributor on this blog embarrasses themselves. And you know what? People love it. They accept it. They know, that we aren't better than everybody else because we show our imperfections. We show that hey, sometimes a mother fucker shits his pants from time to time and aren't too embarrassed to talk about it. AT ALL. And some people get blow jobs from really ugly, fat chicks and come back for more. Wait, what?

Those people that "get it" I want to thank you personally. To those that don't, this blog and Facebook fan page probably aren't for you. It's you guys that take the air out of the building with your sensitive bullshit while 150K+ other fans scratch their heads and think, "Really, mother fucker? You had to take that shit to another level of stupid?" But as much as I want to dislike you sensitive folks, I actually love you. Why? Because you keep coming back. You're just too afraid to admit it. Real talk right there.

Whether it be stories, advice columns or off the wall random shit, people get their fix here. Shit, I get MY fix here. You never know what you're gonna get when you click "I understand and wish to continue." That's why people come here. That's why this blog IS the business. It has changed lives one post at a time. Like they say, "Laughter is the best medicine."

So big ups to you fans who support the fan page and the blog. I know I'm a day late but to J-Wunder and the rest of the CREW, you guys are doing it right and I couldn't ask for a better group of crazy fucks to write with. Happy two year anniversary fuck faces.

Oh, one last thing before I sign off...

To those that take life too seriously - CHILL THE FUCK OUT. You don't do yourself any good walking around with a stick shoved up your ass with one end sticking out of your mouth like a Pez dispenser. Life is way too short to be a Monkey Mouth Bitch.

I'm off like a prom dress.

P.S. - I knew what a lot of you were thinking..."Anonymous is at it again with that cat woman, bitch?"  No fuckers...never again. Well, we'll see. Peace.

A CATastrophe

Dear Cat Woman,

I was out last night with The RINGER. Having some drinks, throwing change at strippers and talking about my last encounter with you...trying to make sense of it all. I guess it couldn't have been summed up better than this by The RINGER:

"Bro, she let you fuck her face. It was warm. Soft. Gentle. Breathtaking. Even if she did look like Sloth from The Goonies, she was good at it. End of story. By the way, have you ever seen this chick naked? Better yet, have you even kissed her? Please say no????"

As I sat there confused and The RINGER sat there laughing hysterically, ordering rounds of shots and lap dances from what could only be described as the most hideous strippers ever - I swear one of them was missing an arm and the other one had a c-section scar...that was fresh, I realized something. It wasn't you I was obsessed with, rather, your amazing mouth. Oh that lovely mouth. It would make a man speechless, I tell ya. Put that mouth on a dog, I'd probably let it suck my cock, too. Wait, what? (That one was for you J-Wunder)

I can't do this anymore. I can't let myself go after someone who is the second coming of Rosie O'Donnell, Roseanne Barr and something that I would describe as a White Precious and a retarded hyena. Fuck that. I'm better than that. You own 274 cats or some shit like that. Your house looks like something from Junkyard Wars and Hoarders. You smell like potpourri and moth balls that have been in my dead grandma's closet, rotting with her dead body. I saw you eat a spoon full of mayo out of a jar. A GODDAMN JAR! And when I say spoon full, I mean serving spoon. And when I say eat, I mean free-base, you took that shit down in one gulp.You sucked my cock with a condom on. What am I saying...you sucked my cock with whipped cream and peanut butter on it! It was like you thought you were at Cold Stone Creamery and whipped up an amazing concoction of goodness and my wang was the banana. BTW - my dick spelled like peanut butter for 2 days!

You texted me last night asking me to come over...AGAIN. I told you NO. I then told The RINGER and not only did he laugh, but he threw up in a trash can. Then it happened...

You started sexting.

Text after text, you sent me naked pics of you in a thong that I'm almost positive was just 3x regular women's underwear. They just looked like a thong on you. One pic had you holding "French Fry" and your left tit. Your nipples resembled rims on a Hummer, if rims were furry. It made no fucking sense. I showed these pics to The RINGER. He laughed and threw up...AGAIN. You didn't stop there...

You pulled your panties to the side and captioned it, "Kitty wants you." What I saw was no kitty, unless it was feral. It was a tundra in the deepest part of the amazon. Your vagina looked humid. That's how horrid it was. I began to drink more...so did The RINGER. These pics were like a bad car accident you couldn't look away from. I puked up my fettucini alfredo and butterscotch pudding (yes, this strip club had a buffet). To be honest, my puke looked more attractive than your ham hock curtains. Yes, I just described your vagina as a ham hock. It looked like it came off the side of a 1 ton pig. I wonder how it smells? Jesus...I think my eyes are bleeding.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. You did a turnaround shot of you in a rhino-style position. I would say "doggy" but you are nothing close to a dog. You are as big as a rhino. When you spread eagle, not only did I lose my shit, but the cocktail waitress serving us dropped her big ass tray of drinks because she saw your pic with your butt cheeks spread. Now I know what hell looks like if I ever go there. Talk about being mind fucked. 

Your sexting changed my life. This was no longer about your amazing mouth. It was about everything else. Your mouth was like Poison Ivy in Batman while everything else was like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. Those two things should never go together. The mouth is a powerful thing I guess. 

Cat Woman, it was fun while it lasted. I can't say there was going to be an end to us, but after your sexting, I want to jump off a really high building while stabbing myself in the face on the way down. I'm scarred for life. So is The RINGER who has now vowed to never hook up drunk again. However, within 15 minutes of taking this vow, he broke it and took home a stripper who had a lazy eye. To be honest, he would probably fuck a blind bitch if she'd let him. 

What my penis shared with your mouth was special. You and I had nothing. It was just two body parts that made a strong bond. It was like hand and glove. Peanut butter and jelly. Kool-Aid and sugar. That's what my wang and your mouth represented...an unbreakable bond that I thought could last a lifetime. But you had to go and sext me. You had to show me something more than I wanted. I was drunk when you sent those pics. They were so bad I not only threw up, but I sobered up. It was like $150 in booze went down the toilet. I should have just drank Shirley Temples all damn night. You sobered me up from your shenanigans...I hope you're happy. I know I'm not. 

You lost a good thing but I hope you find that one person who not only appreciates your mouth like I do, but will appreciate the God awful package that goes along with it. Please make sure to trim your bush and see a dietician...and take showers daily...nothing on your body should look that dark...especially if you are white. I just threw up again. 

Take care and well played on texting me even though I said I was going to change my phone number. I really am this time. You finally gave me a reason to. 

What have I become???? And to think this all started on Match.com. 

Anonymous

Cat Woman - I Can't Get Enough...

Dear Cat Woman,

They say blow jobs are EVERYTHING. That's your secret, huh? Don't say it isn't because I know it really is. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times and I will cum on your face. Wait, what?

You texted me last night and wanted me to come over...AGAIN. You were blunt and honest. You didn't want to go out to dinner. All you wanted was to blow me. Not even have sex...just suck thy wang like it was the last piece of fried chicken on earth. You wanted all of my eleven herbs and spices and special sauces.

I was tempted, I'm not going to lie. The shenanigans you pulled on our last two encounters I can't knock you for. Reason being - 1) I was drunk and 2) I put myself in that position. Well played, Roseanne Barr. Well played. Side note, I am voting for Roseanne Barr for president. The country needs more fat, crazy women in office. That will show the world that our "give-a-fuck" meter is broken, so don't even try us. (She is legit on the ballot for President - look that shit up)

While I was watching Hoarders on my DVR last night, praying that my boy J-Wunder didn't get axed by that crazy bitch from yesterday's advice column, I stared at your text and asked myself, "Do you really want to go? Do you really want to put yourself in that situation...AGAIN?"

Then I thought, "J-Wunder and The RINGER are going to give you hell. They said it themselves...bro, if you fuck with this broad again, we will be sure to do a collab on blasting your ass on the blog." Hey dipshits, have you not noticed I've been blasting myself on the blog? Fucking jerks. Plus, I am pretty sure I got a text from J when he was getting killed, but like I said, Hoarders was on and for some reason all that crazy was giving me major wood.

25 minutes, while drinking a vodka/soda, eating a bag of Doritos and watching Hoarders, I stared at that text and started to write - "Come over and play baby..." But I couldn't finish it.

I drank more. I ate more. I debated. Over and over and over again. God, you give amazing blow jobs. That's the only quality you have. I don't get it. You are a retarded version of Rosie O'Donnell, smell like cat shit but have completely Jedi-Mind fucked me. All because your mouth is amazing. So warm. So soft. So gentle. You are the epitome of a cruel joke. Face like a Mack truck, mouth like soft-serve ice cream.

Then it happened. I got drunk. Horny drunk. I texted you back with the only response I could think of...

"Hey chubbs, I'll be there in a jiffy. 8======D (get ready for the fury)"

I arrived at your house only to be greeted by that awful smell of dirty cats, potpourri, ham, what resembled gouda cheese and cat dookie. Like last time, I wanted to throw up. You wasted no time and went straight for my pants until I stopped you. You looked confused...more so, hungry. I was not going to let you chomp on my wang like an Auntie Annie's pretzel, so I made you a sandwich. Like three of them. Who the fuck still has pimento loaf? I thought that shit was discontinued, but there it was in your fridge, next to what I could only hope was mayonnaise. Side note: you eat some really unhealthy and awful shit. Just sayin'.

After I fed you dinners, you looked at me with eyes that burned with desire and hopefully not chlamydia, then walked me over to your plastic covered couch (and don't think I didn't notice that some of it was yellow, and smelled like cat-death) and sat me down. I thought I sat on a cat turd, but it was only a cat toy. And when I threw it on the ground, what could have only been 10 or 12 cats, came out and started fighting over it like it was the last bone in a dog fighting kennel.

You looked at me with those fiery eyes, like you wanted to kiss. I was wasted (yes, I am going to keep repeating that I was wasted because it makes me feel like I had a reason for even giving you the time of day) so I did what any drunk man would do...I dropped trow and pulled my cock out like I was in a stand-off gun fight. Then it happened...

I fell asleep on your couch only to wake up and find you sucking my dong with peanut butter and whipped cream spread across my shaft and balls. To make it even worse but yet amazing, "French Fry" was trying to get in on the action but you had none of it. You hissed at her like two cats in a cat fight. Ok, you actually roared and sounded like an overweight mountain lion...if one was ever to exist.

Again, you had me at the blow job.

You handed me a towel, I cleaned up and headed for the door. That's when you shocked me with those words as I was leaving...

"I want to be with you baby...I don't want this only to be about blow jobs. So will you???"

I looked at you as I sobered up by the madness you were speaking. After you had drained my body with almost a weeks worth of man juice I only had one response:

"Bitch, YOU CRAZY?! Fuck that, I'm out!"

Sure I loved your blow jobs and sure you had me addicted but let's be honest...did you really think I was going to date you?

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

By the way...I went to Verizon today and changed my number. I'm also moving out of my place because my lease is up. Kidding, I lost my job and can't afford rent. I'm moving in with The RINGER.

It was fun while it lasted. I'll never forget you, those silly fucking cats, your humongous body rolls and that amazing mouth. Don't let any man tell you different Lunch Box...EVER.

XOXO,

Anonymous

The Night I Gave Cat Woman Another Chance

Dear Cat Woman,

Just when I thought it was over, it wasn't. A little over a month had passed when I got an email with the subject titled, "Kitty wants to play". As I stared at it for a good 5 to 6 minutes, I knew it was you. The bitch who looked like the American Yao Ming...but with big ass tits who smelled like cat nip and potpourri. You were my first blind date gone "WTF". You fooled a fool but in the end, I couldn't knock you down too far considering you paid for dinner, drinks and gave me a blow job while I wore a lamb skin condom. Let's not forget I purred like a bitch ass cat getting his fuck on. You're quite welcome.

When I decided to finally read your email, I knew what you might have wanted. It came down to either sex, another date or both. Sure enough, it was both. I'll be honest, you're not attractive...AT ALL. If we were the last two people on earth, I'd probably kill myself. And if I could bet all my life savings, I'd almost guarantee you'd eat my freshly dead body...but try to have sex with it before you had 2 days worth of bbq. That's pretty fucking sick if you ask me.

Although you aren't attractive, I do admit, getting a bj from you is what changed my mind from completely ignoring your request. I'm not going to lie, you're the last piece of ass I had. Ask The RINGER and J-Wunder. They've actually nicknamed me after your cat, "French Fry". Do you know how fucked up that is? It's pretty fucked up. Bitch.

Before our date, I planned everything out purrrrfectly (see what I did there, hoe?). I wore cat imprinted boxers. I took the time to memorize Tom Jones' 1965 smash hit, "What's new pussycat?". Hell, I even bought your cat a ball of yarn. BTW - fuck cats. They are the laziest pieces of shit one could ever imagine. However, I wanted to see if this would make you do things one could only dream of. I pounded a bottle of Grey Goose, and headed towards your house to pick you up.

The moment you opened the door, I envisioned you standing there in a house so warm, cozy, comforting with everything anyone could want. Then I opened my eyes and everything that was seen cannot be unseen...EVER. Let's go through the list:

- I don't know how much you eat daily but, I'm almost certain in a little over a month you had one family size bag of Doritos too many. I love a woman with curves. You HAD some. Now, you are just jello sitting in a big ass pool. I was almost going to ask if you had any flour for foreplay.

- I watch a lot of A&E and your house was a scene from Hoarders. Wasn't really sure if I was smelling cat shit, your shit, shit from 1955 or an open trench of decomposed bodies lurking from your backyard. I actually threw up in my mouth a few times. Thanks.

- You love your cat, "French Fry". You also love the 10 other cats I didn't know about. Please kill me.

- There was hair...EVERYWHERE. This explains why you looked like Chewbacca when you opened the door.

- You offered me Kool-Aid to drink and a bologna sandwich to eat...before we went out to actually eat. Are you fucking kidding me?

- Three cats were taking a shit. One on the couch. One in the kitchen. One by your foot. As I stood there looking confused, the only thing you could say was, "Ooopsy, poopsy poopsy."

Those were the highlights of my 15 minute observation. So glad I drank nearly half a bottle of vodka knowing I didn't know what to exactly expect. Then shit got real...

You closed the door behind me and threw me against the wall. BTW - for future reference...if you outweigh a man by a good 80-110 pounds, no need to throw him with so much World's Strongest Man force. I had to go to the doctor's yesterday because I had concussion symptoms. I've been seeing spots shaped like pepperoni's for the last two days. You're a big bitch. Ba-LEED dat.

I was drunk and wanted this nightmare to end. Why did I do this? Why did I go to your house? What was in it for me? Then the brain in my dick went off. B-L-O-W J-O-B. I wanted to see if round 2 was going to be as memorable as the first time around. I asked you, then you happily obliged. It was on like Chewbacca fucking an Ewok.

As you unzipped my pants, you noticed my cat boxers...this turned you on and had you wanting my dong even more. Since you didn't want to pull my boxers all the way down, I remember you took my semi-hard wang out from the dick hole. This was probably because as you blew me, you wanted to stare at the cat on my boxers. That's some weird fucking shit. Was this really happening?

While you and I were both enjoying this moment, I began to hold my breath. Only because the smell in your house was like something I could ever explain. I almost felt like I was dropping deuce on your face...that's how pungent it was. Then your cats realized what was going on.

Six of them slowly walked towards us as you were sucking my cock like you were trying to beat the world record for eating a 12" Subway sandwich. I became scared and nervous for my life...for good reason. Why did your cat, "Snowball" jump on your shoulder while you were giving me dome? And why was the youngest of the bunch, "Tigger," trying to jump up and lick my balls? I wanted to nut so bad on your face but couldn't. I had to react and act fast...only because if this went on any longer, one of your feline friends was going to get angry and probably tear my dick to shreds. I'm 30 years old. I'm too young to put my dick in a cast. So I did what J-Wunder and The RINGER would have done. I FARTED. I farted loud and I farted like an M-16 going off in the heat of battle.

Everything stopped and I was finally able to exhale and gain composure to leave. Hoping it would phase you, it didn't. You looked up, asked, "You ok? Just gassy, babe?" then kept going. The worst part...I let you finish the job.

Who am I and why am I still on this planet?

Please don't ever call, text or email me. I'm afraid I might do something no man would ever want to do...and enjoy it.

Why did I write this,

Anonymous

Dear Cat Woman...

Dear Cat Woman,

I hope this message finds you well. You probably don't remember me from Saturday night because well, you were too busy on the phone talking to your goddamn cat sitter drinking an Arnold Palmer at our table. Talking to your cat sitter drinking an Arnold fucking Palmer...on a damn date! 

I don't know whose life has just turned for the worst...yours or mine. 

I knew I shouldn't have registered on Match.com. Why? Because I meet weird bitches like yourself...who go on "dates" and talk about their fucking animals. Specifically, their cat named "French Fry". C'mon lady, "French Fry?" For fuck's sake, this was brutal. As I sat there drinking my martini trying not to punch you in the esophagus, I tried to be in-tune to what you were saying. I think by the third minute when you uttered the words, "My little oochie-poochie kitty cat is at home sick," I wanted to stab myself with my salad fork and just die instantly. 

How does a woman like yourself be so out of touch with society? I mean, your profile said you were an outdoorsy girl who loves sports and social events. Knowing this WAS the case, I was super fucking stoked and I thought to myself, "Finally, a girl just my style. Maybe this could be the one." Then I meet you and it looks like you have been held captive in your home since 1991 and took a huge fucking liking to pepperoni Hot Pockets and instant mashed potatoes. Outdoorsy girl? The only outdoorsy thing you've probably done was take out the trash. Love sports? Eating is actually a sport so you got me there. Social events? Playing Shakespeare in the fucking park with your cat is not social. That shit is fucked up, scary and downright wrong. 

You said you looked like Jennifer Aniston. Fuck no you didn't. You looked more like Yao Ming...IF HE WAS AMERICAN. Do you know how hard it was not to ask the waiter for a whole bottle of vodka and 151 so I could attempt to see what you looked like wasted? I thought paying $12/martini would help the cause. Guess what? It didn't even dent the cause. I will no longer be able to masturbate for the next 3-4 weeks.

After listening to your written screen play, "The Adventures of French Fry and Michelle," I was convinced this was payback for the time I put a paper bag over that cross-eyed girls head in college when I agreed to have sex with her. Even though she was dumb enough and drunk enough on following through with this so-called "fetish" of mine, I knew for damn certain, being on this date was Karma. I knew I should have kept going to church...at least watched Joel Osteen on t.v. But how I was supposed to know? You labeled yourself as "The one for Mr. Right." FUCK.MY.LIFE.

You tricked me and tricked me good, Cat Woman. I knew I shouldn't have gotten to the restaurant early. I fucking hate good habits sometimes. However, as bad as I want to say the night ended, it wasn't that bad. I mean, how could I be mad at some chick who not only paid for dinner and got me drunk but in the end, gave me a blow job in front of my house as I meowed like a cat when you made me O-FACE. Wait, what? (that one was for you J-Wunder)

I'll admit, I thought it was a dream...then I woke up in my bed the next day still wearing a condom. You gave me a blow job with a condom on? That's fucked up shit. Meow. 

Well played cat woman, well fucking played. 

I hope to never see your face again, 

Your Match.com date